


The Hope in Your Heart

by ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Wilde's got a lot of trauma, and he's got a lot of responsibility, i'm projecting ok leave me alone, nonverbal Wilde, set probably sometime season 4 but no major spoilers, that builds up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand/pseuds/ADreamIsASoftPlaceToLand
Summary: Wilde has too much on his shoulders, and sometimes it all gets to be Too Much.
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	The Hope in Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> this baby can fit so much projection!! also Britt I'm sorry this took me like. 6 whole months to get to. I thought I would feel more comfortable writing once I was caught up and then I just. never caught up (until like 2 weeks ago). but anyway! hope you enjoy
> 
> also, i'm projecting My Personal Brand of nonverbal onto Wilde. I know plenty of people go nonverbal but still find that writing or typing is fine and communicate that way! sometimes I am also that way! but there are also times when i'm so completely exhausted and have shut down so much that even typing or writing feels like a completely insurmountable task. and thus, i project onto a bard - whose words are Very Important to him.
> 
> also also!! this is my first rqg fic please be gentle with me 
> 
> title from Broken Arrows by Avicii

Zolf opens the door to Wilde’s office, and is surprised to find it empty. Well- he thinks it’s empty for a moment, until he steps inside, and sees a huddled form curled up in the corner behind Wilde’s desk. Zolf’s heart thuds in his chest, and he has to force himself to freeze where he is. _What if he’s infected? Ill? You shouldn’t go near him_. “Wilde?”

He hears a shuddering gasp from the mound of clothes in the corner, and his hands twitch, itching to reach out- to touch, even though he knows it could dangerous, and probably unwanted besides. He and Wilde have come to a tenuous sort of camaraderie since he left Bertie, Hamid, and Sasha. He’s not sure they’re friends, but they’ve moved past the snappish antagonism that characterized most of their interactions in the beginning. Zolf gave up the fight a long time ago; it’s hard to hate someone who doesn’t fight back anymore. Wilde’s speech lost its bite ages ago, his snappish wit turned cold and brittle with exhaustion and grief. They’ve lost a lot of people, and Zolf has watched Wilde wither away along with them. He knows Wilde barely sleeps, and when he does it’s for few hours at a time. Wilde spends long hours awake working, organizing, delegating. When he needs to talk to people, he pulls it off as detached and professional, though it occasionally comes off a tad too insensitive for Zolf’s tastes. When they’re alone though, the facade fades and Zolf can see the coldness for what it really is. Wilde is scared. Scared and exhausted and _so frustrated_. Zolf can see how hard he’s trying and how much he wants _so badly_ for everyone to be ok. But it’s been too long and they’ve lost too many people now for him to let himself care anymore. And so he pulled away until all that was left were cold, serious words that fell far short in the distance between all of them in the wake of this broken world.

Zolf looks at the huddling figure in the corner, and sighs. “Wilde, I’m going to assume that you aren’t sick, and I’m going to come over to you. I’m trusting you to stop me if I’m wrong.”

There is no response, but a hand slips out from under the cloak that covers Wilde and slowly beckons him over. Zolf approaches him slowly, and then plops down beside him on the hardwood floor. “Right, you wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

The cloak shifts and Wilde’s face peeks out, and Zolf has to bite back a gasp. It’s obvious that Wilde’s been crying, which is shocking enough, but more than that Wilde looks-almost _impossibly-_ more exhausted, more drained, more afraid than Zolf has ever seen him. Wilde opens his mouth to speak, but there’s no sound. He makes a frustrated noise and then claps his hands over his face, fingers tugging on the mussed hair that falls across his face. Zolf frowns, and reaches out to- put an arm on Wilde’s shoulder? Pull his hands away from his face and out of his hair? Run his own hands through Wilde’s hair instead? He’s not sure. He’s not- he’s not good at this, the whole comfort thing. He finds himself wanting to do all of these things, He bites down on the inside of his cheek, and asks, “You can’t talk, can you?”

An anguished noise that is half sob and half a failed attempt at speaking again is his only reply. He puffs out an exhale, “Right, ok. That’s alright you don’t- you don’t have to talk right now just- uh, hm. Do you think you could write? Is that easier?”

A pause, and then Wilde lowers his hands and wraps his arms around himself, looking down into his lap as he shakes his head. Zolf hums under his breath and then nods. “Guess that means I’m doing the talking for both of us then.”

Wilde shrinks in on himself at this, and Zolf winces. “Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to sound like I was being put-upon. I really don’t mind. You don’t have to talk right now.”

He does reach out, then, slowly still not quite sure what he means to do with his hands but wanting to do _something_ , and asks, “Can I-?”

Wilde’s eyes widen a bit, but he nods. Zolf scoots a bit closer and braces his hands on Wilde’s shoulders, trying not to notice how Wilde leans into the contact. “Right, ok, I need you to listen to me right now, alright? I need you to listen, and I need you to understand this. You _have_ to start letting me help you. Letting _other people_ help you. I _know_ you think you’re responsible for everything right now, and I _know_ you feel like you have to do this on your own, but you can’t, Wilde, you just can’t. _No one_ could do what you’re trying to do right now. The world is falling apart, and you can’t hold it together on your own. You’re sick, and beyond exhausted. You have to take care of _yourself_ , right now. Let someone else take over for a bit, and take care of yourself. We can handle it for a little while. You need a break. You’ve gone through so much lately and you’re not _dealing_ with it, Wilde, I-”

Zolf cuts off for a moment to steady himself, and he squeezes Wilde’s shoulders gently. “I know you’re trying, we all see it. You’re doing the best you can. That’s what matters, Wilde. We’re not all going to come out of this unscathed, you can never save _everyone_. But you can _try_. And I _know_ you’re trying, but you’re not going to get anywhere if you’re so anxious that you can’t even speak, or you’re so tired that you can’t stand. You can’t help us if you’re pushing yourself so hard that you shut down. We _need_ you, Wilde, but we need you at your _best_. Not like this. So just- take some time, ok?”

Wilde exhales and shuts his eyes, and then leans forward so his head rests against Zolf’s shoulder. Zolf freezes, terrified for a moment that he’s going to scare Wilde off if he moves, but Wilde just sits, pressing his forehead into the space just above Zolf’s collarbone. Zolf tentatively brings his arms up, wrapping one around Wilde’s back, and his other up so that he can cup the back of Wilde’s neck. They sit together for a minute, just breathing, punctuated by the occasional sniffle from Wilde. Zolf closes his eyes and sighs, “You’ve gotta get better, alright? I know we haven’t always got on well but-“ he breaks off and makes a frustrated noise, “Look. You’re gonna make it through this? Alright? I just- I want to see you smile again someday, Wilde. I want to look at you one day and know that you’re happy. I want to look at you and know that this- this god-awful world didn’t break you. _Don’t_ let it break you, Wilde, you’re stronger than that.”

Wilde sits up, then, and Zolf lets him go. Wilde meets his eyes, and there are tears shining there. He doesn’t quite smile, but the hope in his eyes is enough for now. Zolf quirks back a smug smile of his own, and thinks maybe, just maybe, they’re going to make it.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @shorter-than-her-tbr-pile on tumblr if you wanna come yell about a nonverbal bard with me!


End file.
